The palace was awash with golden light. Warm sconces danced across marble walls, and the sounds of distant music began to hum through its grand corridors. The ballroom was being prepared for the nobles' gathering—an extravagant celebration of the Harvest Festival, reserved only for the kingdom's highest bloodlines. Meanwhile, far beyond the palace gates, laughter and firelight flickered across the village square, where commoners celebrated under starlight.
In the eastern wing of the palace, behind tall obsidian doors, Prince Levi stood shirtless before an arched mirror. Moonlight spilled through the open balcony, casting silver across the sharp lines of his body. He was sculpted like a relic of the gods—shoulders broad, arms corded with lean strength, his torso a study of sin and symmetry. His skin bore ancient markings, faint and gold-like veins pulsing subtly beneath the surface when he breathed too deeply, a reminder of what flowed through him.
He ran a hand through his ink-black hair, tousled from the night's earlier battle, as Ryker leaned against the doorframe—arms crossed, already dressed in polished formal attire.
"You really ought to consider letting a servant help you get dressed like everyone else," Ryker muttered with a huff. "You're the prince, not a lone wolf. And you're late."
Levi arched a brow but didn't turn. "I didn't ask for a commentary."
"You never do," Ryker replied, stepping further into the room. "Still doesn't stop me from giving it."
Levi reached for his deep obsidian tunic lined with gold embroidery, slipping it over his head with effortless grace. He adjusted the collar as if he were simply preparing for war rather than a dance.
Ryker let out a dramatic sigh. "Do you even remember how to smile, or should I call the court healer to check if your face muscles still work?"
Levi finally looked at him, eyes glowing faintly golden in the candlelight. "I don't go to the ball to smile."
"No, of course not," Ryker muttered under his breath. "You go to brood in the darkest corner of the room like a half-tamed myth, terrifying debutantes and noble mothers alike."
Levi smirked faintly—just enough to be smug, not amused.
"I'm serious," Ryker continued. "The king expects you to attend this ball with dignity. Behave. Make no threats. Dance if necessary. And for heaven's sake, don't challenge anyone to a duel tonight."
"I didn't challenge the last one. He stepped on my boot and called me 'Lucifer's mistake,'" Levi muttered, fastening his bracers.
"You broke his nose with a fork."
"He bled on the royal wine."
Ryker groaned. "This is exactly what I mean."
A knock echoed at the chamber door. A royal page peeked through with a bowed head. "Your Highness, the ball has commenced. Your presence is requested."
Levi's fingers brushed through the last strands of his damp hair as he stepped toward the door, every movement steeped in power and cold grace.
"I'll behave," he said quietly. "Until someone gives me a reason not to."
Ryker groaned again but followed after him. "You're a nightmare."
Levi glanced over his shoulder with a flicker of a grin. "Then you'd better keep me company."
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The ballroom was a living painting—warm golds and rich carmines spilled across every surface. Ornate chandeliers glistened like a thousand captured stars, and silk-draped nobles floated between marble columns and gilded archways, their laughter as delicate as glass. Perfumed air clung like fog. The scent of roses, honeyed wine, and expectations coiled together into a single breath.
The music paused—just for a beat—as the grand doors creaked open.
Levi entered.
He didn't need a fanfare. His presence was the announcement.
The air shifted as if something ancient had crossed the threshold. He stood cloaked in midnight velvet, gold embroidery glinting like starlight across his shoulders. His boots struck the polished floor with soft authority, and his every step commanded silence from nobles too stunned to speak.
His golden eyes swept the crowd.
Conversations faltered. A noblewoman lowered her fan too quickly. A baron beside her forgot to blink. Several young ladies, adorned in jewels worth their dowries, leaned subtly in his direction—though none dared approach.
Ryker trailed half a step behind, scanning the room with practiced boredom and wariness. "Look at them," he muttered under his breath. "You've been here five seconds, and they're already planning wedding vows."
Levi didn't respond. His eyes were elsewhere—searching, as though the scent of something unseen had caught his attention.
A whisper fluttered like wind through silk.
"That's the third prince..."
"The devil's son..."
"His eyes..."
"They say he's cursed—"
"He's... beautiful."
Levi paused beneath the golden archway, eyes narrowing faintly. "They look at me as if I'm here to devour them."
"You might," Ryker offered, "if the wine is bad."
Levi's lips twitched in the faintest ghost of amusement. "Let's get this over with."
As he descended the grand staircase, nobles instinctively parted like waves before a storm. He moved through them with effortless grace, untouchable and distant, leaving a hush in his wake.
Some bowed. Most stared. A few dared to smile. None approached.
The king had not yet made his appearance, but Levi's presence filled the room as though he already ruled it.
And yet, even as music resumed and the ball continued, Levi's mind wandered—not to the nobles, nor the whispers, nor the expectations heavy in the air.
It lingered on the girl in the woods.
The girl who never saw him.
The one he saved... and shouldn't have.
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